Star Wars: An Old Republic Tale - A Lingering Hope
by RQuinn
Summary: Set thousands of years before the events of A New Hope during the era of the Old Republic and the Great Galactic War, this multi-part story follows the survival of a father and son amongst the onslaught of a Sith invasion.
1. Opening Crawl

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..._

_STAR WARS_

_An Old Republic Tale: __A Lingering Hope_

_The Sith Empire, under the leadership of the immortal Emperor Vitiate, is on the verge of invading the Galactic Republic sparking the Great Galactic War._

_For centuries the Sith Emperor meticulously prepared to fight the Republic and the Jedi, but there was one enemy he knew he had to destroy to ensure a smooth path to victory._

_On a small moon in the far corner of the galaxy, a secluded and mysterious civilization succumb to the Sith Empire's massive fleet of battle cruisers sent to obliterate the moon's populace from the face of the galaxy…._


	2. Part 1

"Shhhhh."

Vitus quiets his 5 year-old son holding him tightly against his chest. The boy has been remarkably silent obeying his father's every order, but the man is taking no chances. Any noise now could give away their position and be the death of them. The tight confines of a crashed Imperial star fighter has been their safe haven for the past few minutes, but he knows that it is futile to think that it will last. Escaping the invasion is their only chance at surviving.

Outside the pitch black interior of the downed star fighter, Imperial troops and dark Jedi roam the streets and countryside of their decimated home world. The screams of men, women, and children haunt the burning landscape as the blaster fire of firing squads, the hum of light sabers, the shrill of strafing star fighters, and the heavy explosions of the Sith battle cruiser bombardment fill Vitus's mind with harrowing thoughts. He can only imagine the terror his son is experiencing as he looks down at the boy's messy black hair. Bodies have been piling up since the outset of the Sith invasion who came out of nowhere that fateful day.

Vitus thought his home, a small forest moon carpeted in vistas of snow capped mountains and crystal clear lakes, unknown to the rest of the galaxy let alone the Sith Empire. Nestled far beyond the Outer Rim, the tiny moon orbits a larger moon orbiting around a lonesome gas giant that shares the solar system with two asteroid belts and two stars, one blue and the other red, orbiting around each other in an eternal dance. For thousands of years, his people have kept their isolated home world a secret, only venturing out to perform the dangerous assassinations they believed necessary to keep the galaxy at peace. For that is who they are: assassins.

"_Or were"_, Vitus thinks to himself as an explosion shakes the hull of the star fighter, its shattered controls rattling on the metallic floor. The star fighter's pilot, whose body Vitus had thrown unceremoniously aside, lies motionless near the hole in the star fighter's structure that the pair squeazed in through leading to the chaos outside. Vitus knows that he and his son have to move, but when is the question. His perked ears listen for possible movement outside that may be heading toward the wreckage, but it is difficult to discern anything from the sounds of death consuming the surface. His eyes race between the hole and the reflection in the visor of the dead pilot's helmet hoping to catch a glance of the outside world.

Another explosion rocks the wreckage. This one feeling and sounding closer than the previous blast, and to add to Vitus's tension the metal hull creaks and bangs as it bends and breaks. The star fighter shifts dangerously on its crumbling side as if being pulled into the moon's crust shrinking the already tight exit hole ever so slightly. The boy grips to Vitus even tighter as the shrilling call of the patrolling star fighters zoom overhead like hawks searching for prey.

A third explosion, even louder than the previous, rocks the entire area like a tiny earthquake. Again the mass of crumbling metal vibrates violently shifting even further; the exit hole even smaller. This time Vitus acts. Double-checking that his son his secure, he races for the hole. Every crawling step he takes in the tight confines become more and more panicked, but he knows that he must keep his cool. He inhales slowly though his nose, nostrils flaring, and exhales out through his mouth. Over and over again he does this, letting his breathing dictate a rhythm. All his years of training and his experiences flood his consciousness as his instincts take control. His body's movements follow the rhythm, and soon his adrenaline pumping heart calms to match it.

"_One step at a time…" _Vitus thinks to himself. "_One step at a time…"_ The daylight of the world outside beckons to him its rays bouncing off the cracked visor of the dead pilot and warming the brown soil, stained with blood, collecting at the opening. His son continues to hold on as his father slides along the twisted metal floor.

Upon reaching the exit, Vitus reaches down to touch his son. "Quintus…I need you to stay here while I see that it's safe." Vitus can feel the young boy clutch even tighter not wishing to let go, but he then feels the release as the obedient boy relaxes and moves aside to await his father's return.

"Don't worry. I won't ever leave you," Vitus says with a reassuring smile. He has never been so proud of the courage and trust that his son is displaying, and with that he takes the plunge.


	3. Part 2

Vitus sticks his head out of the wreck, unprepared for the devastation already eating at his heart. His home set ablaze, buildings crumbling to their foundation, hundreds of cruisers bombarding the moon, thousands of screaming star fighters strafing the surface and escorting landing craft...The relative quiet and darkness of the cramped star fighter interior had shut out enough of the world that, though for only the few minutes that they were in there, he had hoped he was experiencing a bad dream. He fights back the anger, knowing that he will need to save it, and continues with his mission.

Wriggling himself out, he stays low to the ground scanning the area. His fingers dig into the soil, the blood of the slain trickling between his digits. Bodies upon bodies of his people, men, women, and children alike, lay strewn across the ground scored by blaster fire and hacked by light sabers. Hundreds of them, some lined up in rows where the firing squads ended them, others sprawled on the ground where they were shot or cut down as they tried to flee. Buildings crumble all around and napalm fueled fires scald the ground as the smells of smoke and death rise into the air like incense at an altar.

Vitus knew too why the Sith were here. The Emperor, sitting on his throne of safety on some distant planet light years away, wanted Vitus's people dead. The Jedi and the Republic were the Empire's chief concern, but it's hard to do anything with a thorn in your side. As the stories go, from the time of the Great Hyperspace War, his people bred themselves to become as Force "insensitive" as possible. Generations of this selective breeding of his own people over a millenia granted a few of their number invisible to the Force. No longer did the Sith and Jedi have no one to fear but each other. Vitus' people became the bane of both Sith and Jedi alike.

"And n_o more are the days of the Journeyman Protector,"_ Vitus chuckles to himself, a madness already beginning to creep in. Vitus figures the Sith no longer present in the area, guessing the invaders probably moved on to continue the slaughter elsewhere.

He is about to turn to gather his son when he hears it. The sound starts off faint in the distance, its shrill growing ever louder. It then multiplies, screaming like banshees from some nightmare causing the hairs on his neck to stand up. Vitus looks to the horizon and his fears are realized. Three Imperial Star fighters are bearing down on his position ready to strafe the street until there is nothing left standing.

"QUINTUS!" Vitus calls to his son as he drops back down to the hole. He can already hear the sounds of the Imperial Starfighters' guns igniting in a relentless hail of green plasma and fire.

Immediately, the boy pops out of the wreckage and is instantly grabbed by the man. Vitus swings the boy up securing him close to his body covering his son's head with his arm. He then runs for cover like he has never run before, the screaming fighters getting closer as the thick barrage of their fire setting the ground and rubble ablaze destroys everything in their path. Seconds later, the wreckage that had been their refuge explodes into a green fireball. Shrapnel and burning debris go flying as the concussive blast of the explosion hurls Vitus and his son through the air.

Vitus hits the ground hard landing on a jagged piece of rubble protruding from the ground. A rush of pain rushes through his body as the lower ribs on his left side snap on impact puncturing his lung, but that was only the beginning. His body violently rolls over the reddened ground further agitating his broken ribs driving them deeper into his lung. Every bounce on the ground is a new hell of pain, and it climaxes as he slams into what used to be a brick wall. He can feel the skin over his side tear open as one of the broken ribs rips its way through like a knife through leather.

Holding in his scream, Vitus lies still. Blood fills his punctured lung, drips from his nose and mouth, and leaks from the wound at his side.

_"Is this it?"_ he wonders. He dare not move, or more appropriately he does not want to move. All the pain and suffering that had been inflicted on not only him but upon his entire people is too much for anyone to bear.

"_Would it be better just to die? Is there even a way to survive? What was the point of carrying on?"_ …And then his answer reaches his ears: the quiet crying of the helpless boy mere feet away from him.

"Quintus?" Vitus says more to himself than to his son. He turns his head ever slowly,his cheek rubbing against the reddened soil, to see Quintus, back turned, laying atop the burnt remains of one of their own. Vitus can hear the hushed sounds of whimpering. He cannot abandon his son.

Fighting through the pain with what strength he has, Vitus struggles onto all fours. The pain in his side burns at him like a hot iron. His now blood-soaked jacket drips the red liquid, the white tip of the bone just peaking through the leather, but that didn't matter.

"Quintus," the man says crawling to comfort the boy. The boy's whimpering persists as Vitus works his way toward him, the pain at his side burning with each step. Vitus crawls over rubble and the bodies of the dead alike. Their smell of decomposing burnt flesh even worse now that he lies amongst them. A block over, he can hear the blaring shrill of another strafing run decimating the street. Soon, another group of soldiers will comb the area for survivors, double checking the dead are truly dead. Time was against them.

"Quintus," Vitus says again. "It's ok…you're alright now-" Pity floods the man as he rolls the boy's front into view. Quintus' face is cut and bruised and his right arm bent backwards at the elbow. Tears flow from the five-year-old's eyes.

Words escape the man. Gliding his hand over the boy's mangled arm, Quintus winces in silent pain at his father's touch. No more does Vitus feel his own pain, his boy's health is now his only concern, but they won't be moving anywhere fast with Quintus' arm. Vitus swallows knowing what must be done. Ripping a piece of fabric from the hem of his shirt, he twists the cloth until it is thick and strong enough for the boy to bite down on.

"Quintus," Vitus says in a hushed, soothing tone. "Bite down on this." The boy obediently bites down on the twisted cloth as his father places it in his mouth.

Vitus then caringly grips his son's hand in his own. Tears continue to run down the boy's cheeks as he whinces again knowing what is about to happen. Vitus, smiling with pity in his eyes, then places his free hand on the now jutting out dislocated elbow and holds it steady to act as a lever point. With a quick yank, Vitus snaps the boy's arm back into shape.

Quintus' silence ends. The boy lets out a hellish scream of pain as the sudden shock shoots throughout his body. Vitus is quickly on top of the boy covering his mouth. Now is not the time to garner unwanted attention.

Vitus does his best to calm the boy hugging him tightly. The boy's whimpers soon temper, the worst of the pain gone. "Shhh it's all over. It's all done," he says, holding the boy close. Quintus' arm is fixed, yes, but Vitus knows that Quintus will be unable to use it for some time.

"I heard it over here," a voice calls out in the distance.


	4. Part 3

Vitus's reflexes immediately jolt him up cradling his son in his arms. An intense pain ignites at his side as the weight of the boy bounces off the exposed rib.

"Are you sure?" a second voice asks, it closer and more distinct then the first.

"I'm positive. It sounded like a scream," the first voice responds even closer than the first time Vitus heard it.

Vitus eyes the collapsing structure the voices came from, and, trusting his instincts, hides him and Quintus behind a wall of bodies ten meters south of the building's entrance. His back to the bodies and the building, he keeps his hand pressed tightly over Quintus' mouth.

"_One step at a time…One step at a time"._ Vitus inhales and he exhales._ "Do not let the panic set in,"_ he thinks to himself.

Vitus and Quintus sit patiently awaiting the appearance of the voices. The patrolling star fighters are now somewhere far away, but their haunting calls can still be heard among the chorus of thousands more. The Sith battle cruiser bombardment continues to rage on as they now target the rest of the world turning it into glass. Vitus watches the heavens rain green plasma energy on to his home world: a sight that is both beautiful and terrifying.

_Bratatata! _

Vitus snaps to attention as the rapid blaster fire of the Sith soldiers just meters away open up on the bodies in the street.

"There's no one alive here. You must've been hearing things." A trooper exclaims to his comrade.

_Bratatatatatata!_

"No, I know I heard something." The first voice says after a barrage of blaster fire.

_Bratatata! Bratata! Bratatatata!_

"Give it a rest. These ones are all dead." The voice of the second trooper says nonchalantly.

Vitus can now hear more soldiers enter the street joining their comrades in the hunt. Judging by the sounds of their footsteps, he figures there to be at least twenty troopers. Vitus shakes his head in amazement on how the two of them are still alive. All it would take is for one of the Imperials to simply wander a few steps and immediately be on top of the father and son.

A third voice now speaks up, this one with a distinct hiss to add to the menacing sound of his voice. "You there – what did you say?"

The voice of the second trooper answers. "Uh I said these ones are all dead…uh…my Lord."

"Are you positive?" The voice of the Sith awaits a response but none is given. "Silence? I see…"

Vitus then hears the _whoosh_ of a light saber igniting, the quick_ hiss_ of it slicing through armor and flesh, the long_ pssssshttt_ of the light saber shutting off, and the _flop_ of a limp body dropping to the ground.

"We are here to eradicate these vermin because the Emperor demands it! There are to be no survivors!" The voice of the Sith elevates with rage before lowering to an evil snarl. "Make sure it happens."

Vitus chances a look. Craning his neck, he peers ever so slightly over the bodies at his back using the charred remains of a hand to conceal his face. Through the burnt fingers, Vitus can see the group of Imperial troopers spaced out in the road their black armor dirtied by the blood of the slaughtered and blaster rifles held at the ready. Their attention focused on the figure shrouded in black. The Sith's dark robes, unlike the troopers, are clean yet untouched by the gruesomeness of battle. The eyes of his shiny silver mask glow an eerie silver, and the emitter of the Sith's light saber continues to glow red from its last use.

The platoon of troopers salute in unison before their Captain gives them their orders. "Alright! You heard him! Make sure the dead are dead!"

Upon those words, the Imperials about face and unload the magazines of their blasters into the dead. Vitus turns away immediately and covers his son's ears shielding him from the deafening roar of blaster discharges and the wet impacts of plasma ripping corpses apart. The barrage is endless as the Imperials, to Vitus' relief, work their way up the street away from the two of them. However, his relief is short lived.

"You there! Clear that pile!" The Captain's voice calls out to one of his troopers.

Vitus' heart begins pounding faster and faster as he hears the footsteps of the lone trooper come closer and closer. Time seems to slow down as the crunch of every footfall becomes a hammer blow to Vitus' adrenaline filled body. His mind races, doubt flooding his head on what to do. Does he run? Does he fight? Does he do nothing? His instincts tell him to fight…but the boy. Fighting would more than likely guarantee both of their deaths. Either way, fight or flight, Vitus would not be getting far with the protruding rib ripping the flesh at his side.

Vitus can hear the footsteps of the Imperial stop and awaits their end. He holds his son closer to him knowing this is the last moment they will be together. All the years of his life, Vitus served as best he could as a Journeyman Protector, fighting for the good of the galaxy. He killed those who needed to die and saved billions of lives in the process. He slew Sith and Jedi, Senator and commoner, good and evil, and in the process befriended a Jedi, married the love of his life, and bore a son to carry on his legacy. His fate is now upon him and he is ready to face it. With eyes closed, Vitus' body relaxes.

The voice of the Sith Captain calls out, "Hurry up with that! We're moving on!"

"Yes sir!" responds the Imperial just feet from the other side of the body pile.

The sound of a click followed by constant rapid chirping breaks through the blaster fire.

"_A grenade?"_ Vitus realizes as he hears the distinctive slap of the metal ball on the wet flesh of the bodies behind him.

"_Now is not our time!" _With reflexes as fast as lightning, Vitus spins around reaching to grab at the thermal detonator its red flashing light inviting him to grab it. His outreached fingers successfully grip the explosive as he comes into full view of the Imperial trooper.

"One's still alive!" the trooper shouts frozen in amazement before racing to draw his blaster rifle but he is to slow to save his platoon.

Vitus heaves the thermal detonator with all his might at the unsuspecting squadron of Imperials who are all too conveniently clustered tightly together in the street. He then ducks behind the body pile as the lone Imperial opens fire in a desperate attempt to kill Vitus. Rounds after rounds of plasma smack against the bodies of the dead before being silenced by a deafening explosion.

Debris flies overhead along with an Imperial as the lone survivor of the grenade lands with a thud in front of Vitus. The trooper struggles to move, his back broken. Vitus puts his son aside and gets up to exact what little revenge he can.

Approaching the trooper, Vitus watches as the Imperial fails to reach for the rifle laying at his side. Vitus reaches down to the hilt of the weapon dangling from his belt. His fingers caress the simple metal handle that had been used by the men of his station for hundreds of years. A symbol of the Journeyman Protector to counter those of the Jedi and the Sith. The pain at his side is non-existent, his drive to avenge his people shield him from his scourge.

Vitus stands hovering over the trooper. He can hear the panic and the pathetic whimpering setting in. Pleas of mercy begin to reach his ears, but they are given no heed. With a flick of the wrist, the end of Vitus' saber ignites. The black blade, humming its soft, eerie musical tune, absorbs the light around it like a black hole with an edge of brilliant white light outlining the single-edged blade. Every motion made with the blade leaves, for but a second, a trail of black in its wake.

Vitus, without second thought, shows the trooper his mercy plunging the blade deed into the trooper's side, through the heart…a clean kill. The rest of the Sith platoon lays scattered all over the street. What little satisfaction he got from this tiny revenge is quickly erased. He and his son have to move; escaping their home world still looming in his mind…but how to get off? Then it hits him, Vitus can only think of one possible location where a ship might still be flyable and the hangar untouched.

"_And survivors?" _Vitus thinks to himself with an almost certainty. "_That'd be where they're at."_ He smiles to himself as he turns to the boy; positive that they are going to escape this hellish nightmare.

"Quintus," he calls to his son and the boy instantly races to his side. "We're getting out of here."


	5. Part 4

Vitus' excitement to get to the secret hangar has numbed all the pain and suffering that his aching body is experiencing. He no longer cares about concealment and runs in the open, carrying the boy in his arms, straight for the secret hangar.

"_If we were meant to die the two of us would have been dead already"_, he tells himself. Vitus races past structures reduced to rubble, hurdles over corpses and wrecked speeders, and dodges Sith patrols like a shadow in the night. The hidden entrance of the hangar ever closer.

"Vitus?!"

The man nearly stumbles over himself upon hearing the familiar soft voice of a fellow Journeyman. Vitus regains himself to see that his ears did not deceive him. Appearing from a doorway of a home gashed by a rocket, a woman, graying and scarred, comes forward to Vitus. With her is a younger man, half of Vitus' age, and a woman younger still.

"Aelia?" Vitus says, relief and gladness filling his heart. Only about one percent of the world's population is able to be a Journeyman Protector, and even fewer still actually become one. Of those that are Journeyman Protector, only seven are honored with a dark saber, and Aelia bears one. A distant cousin to Vitus, she was once a mentor to him in his youth, and at times could have been considered more of an older sister. Kind-hearted and strong-willed, she was also known for being black and white going to extreme lengths to enact punishments on those who crossed her.

"Vitus, I can't believe-why is this happening?" Aelia asks.

Vitus shakes his head. "I don't know- C_ough! Cough! Cough!" _The adrenaline escapes his body leaving behind the pain that was all but gone.

"Vitus? Your coughing blood…" Aelia approaches Vitus who now notices the blood drenching his clothes and his son. "And your covered in it…you're hurt!" Grabbing Vitus by the arm, she leads him into the collapsed home she had emerged from. It is not much for a shelter, but it keeps them safe from the preying eyes of the patrolling star fighters.

"Aelia, it's nothing." Vitus tries to wave her away but to no avail.

"Vitus – no! Aeliana take the boy from him." Aelia says to her daughter as she continues to fight through Vitus' finicking wanting to tend to his wounds.

"No!" Vitus nearly shouts at the woman and her two children. Warm blood dribbles from the corners of his mouth from the strain caused by the single outburst. The exposed rib continues to keep his wound fresh, tearing the skin ever more and more allowing more of the red liquid to trickle out. He has never felt so helpless, but the boy continuing to grasp tightly to the soaked fabric of Vitus' jacket gives him the strength to fight on.

"Vitus! _Shhhhhh!_ Keep your voice down. I want to help you." Aelia says, her tone quiet and sympathetic. "How can you protect your son while you die from blood loss? Just hand him over so I can try to close that wound."

"….No…." Vitus refuses. His life does not matter. Protecting his son is all that matters, and to do that they must get to the hangar now. As long as his son is with him, he will always have strength enough to safeguard him.

"Vitus, you're not thinking straight," Aelia says, her voice deeper and brow furrowed.

Vitus stares Aelia straight into her eyes. Her two children stand behind her, startled and afraid as if Vitus might attack them. "We're going to the Journeyman Hangar...We go there _now_."

Aelia calmly nods her head agreement. "Okay," she says, a hint of a smile growing at the corner of her mouth.

Vitus turns away, a slight rock in his step. Breathing has become difficult as his left lung is completely filled with blood. "_The hangar is close _\- _almost there."_ Before Vitus can even take a step, an explosion of pain at his side shoots up his body. Aelia, without warning, had ignited her dark saber and drove the flat of the blade onto Vitus' open wound. The black plasma disintegrates the exposed bone and cauterizes the gash that the rib had caused. An aroma of burnt tissue fills his nostrils. The pain is too much for Vitus and he collapses to the ground... his world goes black.


	6. Part 5

Oceans of wheat wave in shimmering gold over rolling hills and vast plains under a brilliant blue sky. Vitus could not have envisioned a more perfect day, but its beauty pales in comparison to the woman lying next to him amongst the golden stalks. Her smooth brown hair, draped over her olive skin shoulders, tickles the nose of the infant cradled in her arms.

"Vitus," she says, her sweet, soft voice like a lullaby to his ears. Her loving golden brown eyes pierce his heart. "Promise me you will protect us."

There is only one answer. "I promise."

Vitus' wife smiles, but the wonderful dream turns a dark corner as the golden fields are set ablaze and the sky darkens. Thick clouds of black smoke, reddened by embers, rise heavenward. Shadows rise from the flames: some wielding lightsabers devoid of color, some brandishing blasters, others reading holocrons, a few comforting children…all ghosts of his past. The woman's smile disappears as her body begins to fade into nothingness to join the shadows.

"Vitus!" she calls out.

He can do nothing. Vitus reaches out to grab her ethereal body but his fingers grasp little more than wisps. A sense of helplessness overwhelms him as he watches his beloved erased from existence. She is gone, but the infant remains. Vitus' son, a happy baby, smiles up at him. "I promise."

"Vitus…" his wife's voice calls out one more time to him from the beyond. Her voice is no longer fearful but ,once again, soothing. "Wake up."


	7. Part 6

"Vitus! Wake up!" Aelia cries trying to wake Vitus from his nightmare.

Vitus' world slowly comes back into view. His eyes adjust to the dim, cavernous hangar containing three transport ships prepped to evacuate the thirty or so survivors who escaped the massacre. Unknown to most of the populace, the hangar lies at the heart of a mountain, impossible to detect without the most advanced ground penetrating radar systems making the ideal place to hide from the Sith fleet. Apart from Aelia everyone is silent, afraid that even a whisper will reach the ears of the Sith hundreds of meters above them on the surface.

Vitus soon realizes he is lying on the cold, metallic ground, with Aelia and Quintus at his side. The boy smiles seeing that his father is okay. Vitus attempts a smile back only to feel his parched lips crack from being crusted over with dry blood. He rubs his hand over his mouth to remove the days old blood along with the beads of sweat coating his forehead.

He tries a word. "Ae-" It is too difficult to even speak. His mouth and throat are so dry that is difficult to even breathe.

"Aeliana- fetch some water," Aelia says to her daughter waiting behind her, and the young woman promptly obeys. "Vitus, try to lie still. I managed to better clean the wound at your side, but without proper medical attention… just don't try to rush anything."

Ignoring her words, Vitus smiles, shakes his head, and slowly moves to sit up properly. The pain at his side remains, however, it is not as strong, but he can tell that he no longer has the use of his left lung. Breathing is more difficult than it ever has been, but he is alive - Quintus is alive. Looking down at the spot where the exposed rib had been, he sees that the wound at his side has been cleaned, the dried blood washed away and the flesh stitched up having been reopened by Aelia during his unconsciousness. The clothes he wears no longer bear their original colors, instead his leather jacket, shirt, and pants are hued in shades of dark red.

Aeliana soon returns caringly holding a small cup of water. She crouches down and raises it to Vitus' dry lips. The man can't help but raise an eyebrow at the unrefreshing amount of water, but still gladly accepts the small drink to parch his thirst.

"How long have I been out?" Vitus asks, his voice weak and strained but returning.

"Three days." Aelia responds.

"And why aren't we off planet?"

Aelia looks to the small group of survivors starving for food and warmth in the cold hangar. Small fires keep the hangar lit with the help of the back-up systems of the middle Journeyman transport. "The Sith fleet is still in orbit."

Vitus' heart drops.

"Their bombardment hasn't stopped once." Aelia says. "I fear they know we're still alive."

Vitus cannot help but think that Aelia may be right. "Are we the last two?" he asks, referring to his and Aelia's status as a Journeyman Protector.

"Gnaeus is alive…He is tending to the others." Aelia shifts her gaze to the others. "Gnaeus, Vitus is awake."

Out from the darkness and into view comes Gnaeus, a tall-burly man with skin as dark as night and scarred from the fighting above. Though the youngest of the seven Journeyman Protectors, he is considered the wisest of them, but others would say that he is just overly cautious.

Gnaeus' deep voice greets Vitus as he extends a hand to his mentor. "Journeyman Mereel, I am glad to see you still breathing."

"Same here." Vitus says smiling to his former protégé and accepting his hand in a firm handshake. "You know you are a Journeyman now as well, formality is no longer needed between us."

Gnaeus smiles. "Old habits I guess."

Vitus chuckles, clearing his throat simultaneously. "How are they?" He asks gesturing toward the survivors.

"Cold…tired…hungry… The Sith came out of nowhere so there was no time to grab any supplies for any kind of prolonged hold out. What we have is what is left of the emergency rations from the transports, which, sadly, won't last another day." Gnaeus says, his voice calm and his thoughts collected – just as Vitus taught him.

Vitus pauses to contemplate on their desperate situation. Vitus knows that their survival clock is ticking away and it is only a matter of time before they all die from hunger. If they are to escape, they would need to do it sooner than later. "The ships are ready, yes?"

Both Aelia and Gnaeus nod.

"And where is the Sith fleet in correlation with our position?" Vitus asks.

Aelia responds, "The navi-computer shows that half the fleet has left the system. The remaining half continues their orbit on the opposite side of the moon with patrolling cruisers and fighters on our side."

Vitus makes a move to stand up, the pain at his side holding him back, but he fights through it. Aelia and Gnaeus attempt to help him but he pushes them away.

He manages to stand, and, looking to his two peers, says, "Show me."


	8. Part 7

Vitus slowly, painfully limps his way to the middle transport. His side aches sending a sharpness throughout his body with every step. Aelia hovers close to him afraid that he will succumb to his injuries at any moment, and Quintus, gripping his father by the hand, pulls Vitus along refusing to let his father pause. Though the on-ramp of the transport lay only meters away, the journey seems endless within the shadowy hangar.

"_One step at a time…"_ Vitus thinks to himself. "_One step at a time…"_

Hushed whispers of the few survivors huddled around the tiny flames of the fire reach the ears of Vitus. They look on with respect and pity in their eyes for to see a Journeyman Protector, a person so heavily revered almost to the idea of invincibility, under so much pain is difficult to fathom. Their eyes remain affixed to the wounded man all the way to the ramp of the transport.

To the eye, the Journeyman transport itself is an unimpressive hunk of metal… and that's how Vitus and the other Journeyman Protectors want it. Neither sleek and shiny or dull and rusted, these ships provide the anonymity a Journeyman requires during a mission. The hardware that makes the ship is as technologically advanced as anything the Republic or the Empire have at their disposal. Equipped with a cloaking device, a class 0.8 hyperdrive, a top of the line navicomputer, and all the bells and whistles that make even the best smugglers drool with envy.

"_Of course, an elevator would be asking too much." _Vitus chuckles to himself as he struggles up the ramp leading to the ship interior.

Aelia steps forward leading Vitus through one of the ships access tunnels. It felt ages since he had last ventured on one of these transports, though in truth it had been no more than three months. Panels missing, exposed wires, rust and grime everywhere…why it was decided that the interior match the hull was beyond him.

Inside the main hold of the ship, the large round console that was the navicomputer awaited Vitus and the others. Aelia approached the console's terminal activating the holoprojector. Vitus, Quintus close by, and Gnaeus look on as the soft blue glow of a moon illuminates the murky hold.

The room is silent as the three Journeymen carefully analyze the projection of their home. Orbiting the breadth of the southern hemisphere, a mass of green triangles can be seen.

"There's so many…" Vitus says, unaware that he is speaking out loud. He is completely mind-boggled at the prospect of hundreds of Imperial Battle Cruisers, thousands of frigates and support crafts, and tens of thousands of star fighters converging on the small moon.

Gnaeus leans forward resting his hands on the console. "I have little doubt that anyone else survived." The prospect disturbs to the group.

Vitus glances down at his son. The boy, thumb in his mouth, is enamored by the magnificent blue orb of light floating in front of him. Vitus cannot help but chuckle at his son. If only he knew as much as Quintus did about their situation – nothing. Vitus was raised to be a brave man, an honorable man…but the fears of death begin to creep into his mind – not of his death but the death of his son.

"But we can be damned sure we do…look." Aelia says, her voice full of hope.

On the hologram's northern hemisphere, a red dot flickers.

"_Our current location." _Vitus thinks as he rubs his chin.

Above their location on the moon, Vitus sees three green lone triangles - Imperial Cruisers - spread out and charged with patrolling the whole of the hemisphere. The sight of this image returns hope to Vitus' thoughts.

"We can get passed that!" Gnaeus exclaims.

"Agreed." Vitus says. "But we must be careful. As soon as we start the engines, those cruisers are gonna know we're alive and converge on our position…all of them. "

Gnaeus is unphased. "What about the cloaking device?"

"Aelia?"

"Unfortunately, the cloaking devices installed on these ships require two minutes after all flight systems are turned on," says the woman.

"What?!" shouts Gnaeus. "Two minutes! That's way too long!"

"It is what it is."

"They're gonna be on top of -"

"Gnaeus!" Vitus resumes control of the situation. "Aelia is right…it is what it is."

"Vitus, you and Aelia know as well as I do that we won't have one minute before the first cruiser reaches us."

"I know." Vitus falls back into a nearby chair.

Gnaeus continues to throw out ideas. "What if we wait it out, hmm?"

Aelia responds. "For other survivors maybe…if they have the means…which we don't."

"What do you mean?"

"While my children and I were hiding during the massacre, we overheard a Sith patrol."

Vitus looks up. "What did you overhear?"

"I heard them say that half the Imperial fleet was to remain here for another two weeks before pressing on to Morriban."

The entire room's spirits drops. With only less than a day's worth of rations remaining, any hope for them and the others to hold out for two weeks is gone. Vitus watches his son reaching to touch the hovering blue lights of the hologram. His mind swirls in nothingness knowing full well that now is their only chance.

"Well, my mind is made up." Vitus says to the others. "I say we go now…Our chances are better against those cruisers than waiting two weeks with no supplies."

Aelia nods her head in agreement. "Gnaeus?"

Vitus' former mentee lowers his head in thought. Both Vitus and Aelia can tell that the young man is struggling with his fear.

"Gnaeus…" Vitus says, his voice calm and soothing like a father approaching a discomforted child. "Do you trust me?"

The young man nods. "I do."

"Then have no fear and we will make it through this." Vitus smiles reassuringly to Gnaeus before looking to Aelia. "Get the others and prep the ship…we're getting out of here."


	9. Part 8

Looming high above the moon's surface, the lone Sith battle cruiser continues its hunt. Nearly a kilometer in length and manned by a crew of two and half thousand with a complement of seven and half thousand battle ready troops, the dreadnaught's daunting size and wedge shape will make any cruiser like it instantly recognizable in the war to come striking fear into the hearts of all who stand against it. Flanked by two smaller destroyers and guarded by a dozen patrolling starfighters, the cruiser's air-to-surface scanners run tirelessly searching for any hints of life.

Inside the bridge of the Imperial cruiser, the command staff of the ship works furiously checking and double checking the read-outs of the ship's scanners. Dressed in black uniforms with insignias and rank adorned on the front of their caps and upon their chest, these hardened men and women are able to perform any mission commanded of them by their Emperor, and this one is just the first of many. Their mission is simple: "Kill the entire populace. Destroy the moon." The Sith Emperor's word was law, and to fall short meant death.

Looking out the windows of the bridge's observation deck, the Sith Lord assigned to oversee this mission is deep in thought. Standing tall with hands folded behind his back, Darth Abadon meditates on the tenants of the Sith as he watches the moon's once grey-green surface burn red.

"_Peace is a lie, there is only passion…Through passion, I gain strength…Through strength, I gain power..."_

A pure-blooded Sith, Darth Abadon is known around the Empire as 'the Destroyer.' He has quelled slave riots on Dromund Kaas, put to the blade rebellious Sith, and served as the Emperor's personal guard. For his services, he was awarded by the Emperor himself the honor of commanding the first full-fledged Sith invasion of the Galaxy in three-hundred years. A task he gladly accepted but not without questions he kept tightly to himself.

"_Through power, I gain victory…victory? Victory over what? …a defenseless populace in unknown reaches of space?"_ Abadon was puzzled by his Lord's strategy the moment he was given the orders. Why come here? Are the Republic and the Jedi not the objective? What possible outcome could come from exterminating a bunch of peasants apart from blooding the infantry?

In his mind, there is absolutely no reason for any Sith presence to have come to this moon of a moon. There is no strategic advantage for holding this sector of space for it is even further from the Core Worlds than Dromund Kaas. However, there is one issue he felt most odd. Why would the Emperor send the entirety of the Sith fleet? Twenty capital ships, hundreds of battle cruisers, tens of thousands of corvettes, destroyers, and frigates, and millions of starfighters all converging to decimate a population of barely twenty thousand people…even Abadon thought it a little overkill.

"What is it admiral?" says Darth Abadon with a calm, melodic voice sensing his second-in-command approaching.

"M'lord, the Emperor's Apprentice is demanding an update –"

Abadon had been awaiting such a call. "Put her through."

"Yes, m'lord."

Appearing from the console in front of him, a miniature version of Exal Kressh, the Emperor's apprentice and right hand, materializes in a crystal clear blue hologram. Abadon was familiar with the intense glare of the half-breed Sith. Her black hair knotted in a tight ponytail, her Imperial armor pristine, and her Sith robes black as night flowing about her…Abadon knew it was all for show. She acted the part, yes, but he knew that she was weak even for the average Sith.

"Lady Kressh." Darth Abadon says bowing.

"Lord Abadon, the Emperor is demanding an update on the attack," she says, her voice resonating in the dialect of an upper-class Imperial. However, Abadon could pick out the notes of her voice where she was forcing it.

"His orders have been carried out…The moon's populace has been entirely obliterated…Half the fleet now continues the bombardment of the moon surface while the rest of the fleet has begun its invasion on Morriban." The Sith's words cooly flow from his lips as if he had rehearsed them.

"Very good – Lord Abadon, I shall relay the news to the Emperor."

"If you will allow me to pry - may I ask why his apprentice is the one asking and not the Emperor himself?" He knows he has touched a nerve.

Kressh, taken aback, retorts with a hot rage in her voice. "_I_ am the Emperor's apprentice," she says, the Imperial accent all but gone. "How dare you think that I am not in the Emperor's trust!"

"I meant no disrespect." Flared temper, quivering lip, shaking hands, this is the Exal Kressh Abadon remembers. "I only thought that the Emperor would have wished to hear the report himself…given that this was the first full "invasion" of the galaxy and he sent the entirety of his forces to exterminate the population of a moon whose numbers equal to that of two of our battle cruisers."

"Darth Abadon – you know what it means to question the Emperor's orders." A smile creeps at the corner of Kressh's mouth. Abadon knows that she would love nothing more to have him "removed."

"I am not questioning our Lord's orders…I only question his strategy so that it may be clearer to me."

Kressh's figure shifts into an aggressive stance - her arms crossed, brow furrowed, an evil smile fully pronounced across her face. Before she can speak another word, the hologram cuts. The bridge of the Sith dreadnaught is silent with all eyes looking to Abadon. He himself remains still and calm, unphased by the Emperor's young apprentice's attempts of intimidation.

"Admiral…" Abadon says, his mind still on the previous conversation. "Continue the sweep. Have the fleet – AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Darth Abadon drops to the ground as an searing pain enters his head without warning. His ears flood with the sounds of a deep bass blocking out all ambient noise. He can feel something - neither physical nor ethereal - growing from within his skull. The Admiral and several other personnel scramble to help him but there is nothing they can do as Abadon's world goes dark.

"Abadon…" A low, snarly voice calls out to him from the beyond. A voice cold and filled with evil. "Abadon…" A voice familiar to him. A voice feared by the masses. "Abadon…" The voice of the Emperor. "Have you no faith in me?"

Abadon attempts a response, but even in his own mind he has no voice to the Emperor.

"Do you no longer fear me?"

"I – I do…I do fear you, my Lord." Abadon's voice is barely a whisper.

"…if you do not fear me than you should fear them…those 'peasants.'"

"I do fear you, my Lord." The Emperor's presence drowns out Abadon's attempts at speech.

"Imagine an enemy…where all your power…all your knowledge of the Force…means nothing…is useless…an enemy who is invisible to your senses…an enemy unaffected by the physical manipulations of the Force…"

"My Lord, such an enemy exists?"

"Not if you have carried out your mission to its fullest…tell me…did our spies recover the information I asked for?"

"Yes, Your Worship. Only two were off world when –"

"And are their locations known?"

"Yes."

"Good…send our agents to deal with them quietly…bring proof of their demise…their light sabers will do."

Light sabers? "Yes, Your Worship."

"Abadon…do not disappoint me…be sure that all that called this moon home…are dead…or you will be."

"Y-yes…My Lord."

Abadon returns to the moment. Several of his command staff and three of the ship's doctors hover about him awaiting his return to consciousness. The area in his head where he felt the growth is back to normal. He feels no pain as he returns to his feet... Abadon is perfectly fine.

"M'lord," the Admiral says with genuine worry in his eyes for his commander. "Are you alright?"

"I am..." That was a lie. Abadon is deeply disturbed at the power his lord commands. What kind of understanding of the Force does the Emperor have to enter his head from across the galaxy? "Admiral, continue the sweep...We must be sure that -"

"Lord Abadon! Two ships detected under the moon's surface!" cries the deck officer from bridge's computers.

Abadon eyes widen in disbelief. "Impossible - call back the fleet. Where are they in conjunction with our position?" He nearly shouts the orders as a hint of fear and panic begin to build within him.

"Not far, sir...they're located...at... at 39 degrees North..."

The anxiety is killing Abadon. "And?...What's the longitude?"

"Uh...sir. They've...disappeared."

"What!?" Abadon's heart drops as the fear grows knowing what his Lord will do to him. Force choking the Admiral next to him and in a voice filled with hate and rage, he yells at the top of his lungs. "CALL THE FLEET BACK NOOOWWW! We are going to collapse this entire moon if we have to! Those survivors will be found and killed!"


	10. Part 9

Quintus sits quietly strapped and buckled in his seat as his father directed him to. His arm, still sore from its dislocation three days earlier, remains in its sling across his chest. All around him, people – strange people – people he's never seen before are also seated within the rectangular main passenger bay of the Journeyman transport ready to escape this nightmare. They are all like he and his father, Quintus reckons: the remnants of families who survived the carnage.

Next to Quintus on his left, a girl twice his age tightly grips the hand of her mother who in turn is holding to her chest a newborn baby. Tears flow from the woman's eyes – tears of happiness or sadness Quintus will never know – as no husband is there to comfort her and her children.

To Quintus' right, an elderly couple sits prayerfully trying to set the example that hope is not yet lost and all will be well. The two occasionally smile to each other with a twinkle in their eyes as they reminisce of the good times.

Directly across from Quintus, he sees a father and a son – much like he and his father Vitus. The boy, roughly the same age as Quintus, sits with his hands folded in front of him and feet dangling over the edge of the seat just like him. The father fidgets with the boy's straps checking and rechecking his son is safely secure.

Above him, the lights of the Journeyman transport illuminate the ship's interior revealing every scuff, scratch, and stain otherwise hidden in the normally dimly lit setting. And below him, the once empty floor is littered with whatever supplies were left over from the other two transports. Medicine, blankets, empty bags, and the leftover scraps of the emergency rations make up the clutter.

Quintus awaits anxiously for whatever is to happen next. A low rumble soon begins to grow from the depths of the ship. The loose panels along the walls, floors, and ceilings clank from the violent vibrations as the engines turn over. A few of the other younglings cry nervously at the sudden end of near silence…but not Quintus. Though young himself, younger than the others, he knows he is expected to be brave because his father is brave…and his mother was braver still.

Quintus has no memory of his mother. His father always talked about her as if she were still around. Perhaps he hoped that she might miraculously come back from the dead. All Quintus knew were the images his father showed him lovingly. Even so, Quintus felt like he knew her. People, including his father, always told him that he looked like his mother. Her black hair, her golden eyes, her olive skin…Quintus was in fact the spitting image of his mother.

Silence returns again as the engines of the Journeyman transport cut off. The quiet is welcome as the fear of Sith detection is still high amongst the survivors. The mother next to Quintus rocks her whimpering baby soothing the child back to sleep. From the doorway on Quintus' right, voices can be heard carrying down the hallways of the ship from the cockpit - his father's voice amongst them.

"Let's hope they noticed…"

Hearing his father's voice brought back a sense of peace to Quintus, calming his anxiety. Another voice, a woman's, answers Vitus' statement.

"By the Force, this plan must work…"

Aelia…that was her name. Her daughter, Aeliana, a pretty young woman with dusty brown hair cared for him while his father was unconscious.

The eerie silence of the passenger bay has everyone tense causing each individual to focus in on the only source of hope on the ship…the Journeyman Protectors.

"It'll work Aelia…It'll work…two minutes was enough…was enough…"

"Look, the cruiser's heading right for our position!" That was a voice familiar to Quintus for it belonged to a man very much like an older brother.

"It's not just the cruiser, Gnaeus." Aelia exclaimed. "Look…the entire fleet!"

The passenger bay gasps in unison. Quintus thought it could get no quieter, but with that one exclamation, the entirety of the ship drops a few decibels lower. For the next few moments, only hushed voices and mumblings can be heard from the cockpit. No one knew what was being planned. No one knew what was to come next.

"…Gnaeus…it's time to send them out." Vitus says, and shortly thereafter, the rumblings return to the passenger bay.

Back in the cockpit, Vitus, Aelia, and Gnaeus watch the small screen of the cockpit's navicomputer as the entirety of the Sith fleet slowly work their way closer to their position. Vitus and Aelia sit at the pilot and copilot positions respectively and Gnaeus sits behind them at the navigator's spot. Upon Vitus' order, Gnaeus had pressed the remote control panel above him igniting the engines of the two other transports.

Vitus' plan was sneaky. Hoping that the cruiser above him was still scanning the surface, Vitus ordered the transport laden with the survivors and the second transport to be fired up for the couple minutes required to allow the cloaking device to kick on. The Sith would hopefully read two ships before Gnaeus shut off the second transport and activated the cloaking device on theirs. Now with the Sith fleet bearing down on them, it was time to send out both the second and third transports to provide the survivors with the chance to escape this hellish nightmare.

"Aelia- open the hangar doors."

A screen comes alive amongst Aelia's controls revealing a camera shot of the hidden hangar entrance hundreds of meters ahead of them in the pitch black. A waterfall parts as the two doors swing up at an angle allowing the water to flow across them. From their dark confines at the heart of the mountain, a beam of light finds its way to shine on the face of the Journeyman transport.

Vitus, for some unknown reason, smiles to himself. "It's daytime."

Regaining himself, he directs his attention to Gnaeus behind him. "Have the second transport shoot across the right flank of the fleet and the other across their left," Vitus says with complete calm. He knows they only have one shot at this. "And Gnaeus…make sure they're flying as fast as they can."

Gnaeus smiles back at his former mentor before returning to his control panel setting the corresponding coordinates for each of the decoy transports. Both ships' engines grow louder, increasing the decibels until the whole of the mountain is filled by their deafening roars. The cockpit shakes violently; Vitus' seat seemingly coming unhinged from the floor. Soon, the first of the two transports jets away through the long tunnel out of the hangar, and is shortly followed by the second. Calm returns to the hangar with only the low rumblings of the lone transport's idling engines. Vitus, Aelia, and Gnaeus all watch as their decoys are sent out to give them their one chance of survival.

"Now we wait."

The three Journeyman Protectors nervously watch the navicomputer projection of the moon. Two green dots zoom across the surface from their position, represented by a yellow triangle, toward a mass of red, located on the opposite hemisphere, gradually working its way toward them. The green dots then split off speeding along either side of the mass.

Gnaeus' mumbles under his breath. "Come on…come on…take the bait." His hopes are realized as the red mass divides in two to pursue the two transports. However, the lone star cruiser remains in orbit right above them. "Vitus, what about that cruiser?"

Vitus had hoped it would chase after their decoys, but it is never that easy. "Just hold on…give it time. The transports haven't left the atmosphere yet." But however long they waited, the lone Sith cruiser would not move. Longer and longer they wait only to watch as one of the green dots disappears from the projection, its twin still in high pursuit by the fleet.

Vitus' eyes dash between the green dot and the lone red dot. His head spins, his body tensing with apprehension. Will that cruiser budge? How much longer will the decoy last? Do they go for it regardless? Or is their window gone? So many questions flood his mind. Every second seems to last a minute, every minute an hour.

"Vitus…" Aelia says, her voice sinking.

"What?" Vitus responds erasing his feverish mental ramblings returning him to the now.

"The last decoy is gone."

His heart drops. He had hoped that the decoys would have lasted longer, but they did their job. Vitus with one more deep breath tells his peers, "Time to go." And with that Vitus increases the power to the engines and the transport lifts off.

"Hey Vitus," Gnaeus says."They're sending a squadron down to investigate our location."

"Well – we were planning on going fast anyway." Vitus then hits the accelerator and their ship shoots through the black tunnel toward the light of the hangar entrance. They reach it in mere seconds, and what greets them on the other side is a sight they would never forget.


	11. Part 10

The Journeyman Transport explodes its way out of the hangar, the power of its engines evaporating the water of the waterfall flowing around the hangar doors. With a blink of the eye, the ship carrying the last 30 survivors of the Sith invasion rockets across the surface of their home world staying low to the ground. Once lush, green mountains and valleys are now barren and set ablaze by the melting rock caused by the glassing of the moon by the Imperial Fleet. For days now, the Sith bombardment has been relentless, their turbolasers firing millions of rounds in an endless stream of green plasma raining from the heavens.

Vitus Mereel can only look on from the cockpit of his people's salvation as the once majestic landscape is now scorched with the colors of death. Miles upon countless miles of land stretching out beyond the horizon now burn with the same intensity as the hatred the man has for the Sith and their beloved Empire. Temptation calls for him to fight to the death, to crash the transport straight into the bridge of the Imperial Capital ship high above sacrificing him and the others just to kill a measly 9,000 Sith…but that would mean breaking the promise.

"_Promise me…promise you will protect our son_." His wife's words echo in his mind. He did promise. He will do everything in his power to ensure the survival of their son.

"Vitus! Hey, Vitus!" Gnaeus shakes his mentor's shoulder snapping the man out of his brief trance. "You alright?"

Vitus simply nods.

"You sure? You haven't been yourself lately?"

Aelia cuts in. "Gnaeus…none of us have been."

"Aelia," Vitus begins before Aelia stops him mid-sentence.

"No, don't say anything," she snaps. "We've all been through a lot. We're nearly out of this so let's focus on that."

It is true. They all had been through hell, but, even so, Vitus knew that his injuries have affected him greatly. He knows whatever medical procedures Aelia had performed were not up to any hospital standard. As Journeyman Protectors, they learned basic field treatments for setting broken arms and legs, bandaging and stitching open wounds - anything that would keep them alive if they got caught between a rock and a hard place. However, broken and protruding ribs, a pierced lung, and internal bleeding were beyond any of their medical training. Aelia's healing did little more than plug a leak in an inevitably crumbling dam.

"Oh, shit!" Gnaeus exclaims as his console station begins blinking red lights as an alarm kicks on.

"What do we have?" Vitus asks as he focuses on navigating the ship through the narrow mountain valleys.

"Fly faster – they're on to us!"

"What!? How!?" Vitus instantly slams the accelerator maxing out the ship's engines' speed.

"I don't know – I don't know! We're cloaked! How the f-" Gnaeus' words are cut short as their transport is hit from above by an Imperial starfighter.

* * *

"Darth Abadon! A patrol has stumbled upon another ship and is currently engaging them." The Imperial Bridge Officer relays the information to the now furiously pacing Sith Lord in the Imperial Cruiser.

Darth Abadon, almost in a panic for the last twenty minutes, shouts his orders to the entire bridge. "Do not destroy that ship! Tell that patrol to force that ship to the ground! If there are any other survivors, the crew of that one will know!"

"Yes, m'lord. It will be done," responds the officer.

Doubts return to Abadon's mind as well as the fear of his master as he begins to think his own men are probably going to sabotage this mission. "_Yes, Kressh probably paid them off to set up my failure. If you want it done right, you must do it yourself."_

"Wait!" Abadon calls to the Bridge Officer. "Tell those fighters to hold their fire. Get my ship ready as well as a contingency of troopers, I am going to do this myself."

* * *

Vitus steers the ship dodging the laser blasts of the enemy starfighters. Many of the shots miss, and those that connect are deflected or absorbed by the transport's shields.

"How many are you reading?" Vitus says to Gnaeus.

"I'm counting six, but I'm sure more are on the way – _hmpf_!" The transport rocks violently as a blast finds its way through the shields impacting the port side hull. "Shields are beginning to fail!"

"Gnaeus! Head up to the rear gun and see if you can't take a few of them out!"

"On it!" Gnaeus hurries to the turret located at the rear of the transport accessed by the engine room.

"You think he's going to be able to hold them off?" Aelia asks sarcastically.

Vitus does not need to answer. All three of them know the answer to that question. With their ship spotted, hiding was no longer an option. They are outnumbered millions to one making fighting an impossible option unless suicide is their goal. No, they have to outrun the Sith and hope that the Imperials miss enough of their shots that the last survivors can find an opening and make the jump to hyperspace.

From the cockpit, Vitus and Aelia can hear Gnaeus unleashing the rear battery into the pursuing star fighters. Every plasma round fired from the manned turret sends a heavy vibration through the entirety of the ship jarring loose the already loosened interior panels and short-circuiting several passageway lights. Everyone hangs on hoping and praying that death does not find them soon.

Vitus flips on the comms channel switch in front of him. "How's it looking back there?"

A quick three shot burst resonates throughout the ship. "More of the bastards keep showing up!...and Vitus."

"What?"

"They're aiming at the thrusters."

Vitus and Aelia pause taking in Gnaeus' words. The two of them look to each other before Aelia speaks, a hint of despair in her voice. "The Sith are trying to bring us to the ground!?"

The ship rocks again from another direct hit. Alarms begin to sound off from every console in a symphony of chaos.

"They want information before they kill us...Vitus, you know they're going to torture every single person on this vessel."

Another blast from the star fighters rocks the transport, but Vitus does not respond to Aelia. Instead, he grips the control wheel with steel hands determined to get his son to safety. He reaches for the accelerator once more but the energy from a huge direct hit nearly throws him and Aelia from their seats. Vitus quickly regains himself and his eyes go straight to the shield read-outs. To his dismay, the readings on the shield, like a heart rate monitor, have flatlined.

"Gnaeus, keep holding them! We've lost the shields!" Vitus shouts into the comms, but no response is received. "Gnaeus!? Gnaeus-"

"He's gone." Aelia says almost emotionless. More and more fire from the Sith pepper the Journeyman Transport. The woman then stands up and makes her way for the cockpit door.

"What are you doing?" Vitus asks as he eyes his good friend, her light saber clenched in her hand.

"Making sure no one will suffer."

Vitus' eyes grow wide as visions of the promise he made swarm his mind, and without hesitation jumps up from his seat and charges Aelia. He slams his body into hers driving the woman into the edge of the doorway breaking her nose in the process. Meanwhile, the unattended flight controls point the nose of the ship down. Vitus rips the light saber away from the struggling Aelia as the transport violently bounces off the ground sending pieces of its hull flying. He ignites the light saber, revealing its black blade outlined in white. Vitus locks eyes with his friend for the last time as he drives the blade of the dark saber through Aelia's heart. The Journeyman Transport, fire and smoke trailing behind it, slides to a screeching halt as the Sith star fighters circle overhead.


	12. Part 11

Vitus stares into the now lifeless eyes of Aelia. Her final expression of fear, confusion…or pity remains upon her bloodied face. The dark saber, still rammed through Aelia's heart, quietly hums as it continues to cauterize the dead woman's flesh. _She meant to kill Quintus,_ Vitus tells himself fighting back the guilt. He must keep his promise - his son will survive this nightmare.

_Cough! Cough!_ Vitus wipes the blood from his mouth as he stands up and regains himself to assess the situation. The transport is grounded, on fire, and being circled from above. Nothing is on as the ship's power supply is no longer functioning. He can expect the ship's interior to be pitch black.

Through the heavily cracked portside cockpit windows, Vitus spies on a Sith troop transport and a lone starfighter landing some fifty meters away. _There isn't much time._ Vitus rushes for the transport's passenger bay holding the dark saber up as a light. Though black in color, the blade releases a dim white glow – good enough to light the cramped hallways of the transport. Metal and hull fragments litter the floor as small fires burn what little flammable material there is in this portion of the ship.

_Cough! Cough!_ Blood drips from the corners of Vitus' mouth. Breathing is becoming more and more difficult as every breath draws more of the warm red liquid into his one healthy lung…but he must press on.

Vitus soon reaches the passenger bay to a horrid sight. As the transport crashed into the ground, several of the already loose plasteel panels jarred free slicing several of the passengers. Unable to move during the crash or knocked unconscious from the shear amount of pain, these unfortunate few bled out. Four more, who were not restrained in their seats were at the crash's mercy as they were flung around the cabin like a ragdoll breaking bones or killing them altogether. But to Vitus, the only one that mattered is Quintus, and to his great relief, the boy remained alive in his seat.

_Cough! Cough!_ The boy, unconscious, still breathes. He did suffer a deep cut across his left cheek but fortunately that was the extent of his damage. Vitus hurriedly cuts the restraints knowing that the Sith would be upon the ship at any moment.

"Help us…" A weak voice calls to Vitus from the shadows. "Please –"

Vitus, his son cradled in his arms, turns to see a crippled father and son, not unlike he and Quintus, reaching out for help from their seats.

"Journeyman…please help…my son…" Those were the man's last words as he slumps over.

Muffled voices can be heard from outside the ship as the Sith press their advance closer. To Vitus, there is no possibility of saving all of them. No, instead he would enact what mercy he could - the mercy Aelia meant to offer.

* * *

Darth Abadon's nostrils flare with rage as he looks on at the crashed transport. The unimpressive ship lay in a heap, it's crushed and shattered hull spewed about the ground. Smoke billows in a black mass from the flaming engines. The mile long gorge or earth and rock carved during the crash was enough to stop the ship short of a cliff in which the drop surely would have killed the survivors.

His fifty Sith troopers spread out across the damaged plain, await their lord's command. Their armor, black and accented in blood red, reflects the glimmer of the sinking sun on the horizon. Long shadows cast across the ground flicker with the flames of the massive fire in a ghostly dance.

"Boarding team, capture the survivors!" Abadon's command rings in the lifeless air as ten of his most loyal men approach the burning junk pile of a ship.

Darth Abadon's eyes remain glued to the hull of the broken ship. He is amazed that it is still in one piece for it appears to have been primitively built, unable to survive a crash let alone fly. Fire escapes from a giant crack where the ship nearly bent in half. The cockpit, mostly intact, is driven into the ground with only the top windows visible above the dirt and refuse.

"Lord Abadon!" A voice calls from the advance party. "Something's cutting its way out!"

Abadon's eyes search the hull in a panic, and then he sees what the troopers spotted. From the rear of the ship, where the exit ramp would have been, a light saber blade, black in color and outlined in white, carving out a hole. "_These people are Jedi?"_ Lord Abadon, stunned, looks on as the blade works its way in a circular pattern.

"Orders, sir!?" A trooper calls out, but Abadon is unable to hear him above his own amazement.

The section of hull drops to the ground with a resounding thud, and out of it appears a man carrying a small child. The man freezes as he sees the small army of Sith looking straight back at him with weapons at the ready. Abadon's heart begins to pound. His breathing increases. His temperature rises. For a moment he had forgotten himself, but now, almost ashamed – no, not shame…hatred – for his hesitation, he no longer cares about prisoners.

"Kill them!" Abadon screams. His Sith troopers hesitate for a moment at the sudden change in orders giving the man a chance to race for the cliff. The Sith open up their blaster fire in a volley of deafening noise. Blaster rounds bounce around the escapees narrowly missing by inches as if fate would not let Abadon win. _"No, not fate…my men are traitors to my own cause. I must do it myself."_ Abadon watches as the man leaps over the edge disappearing into the darkness below.

Abadon, furious, abandons his men and enters his starfighter to pursue the man and child.

* * *

Gravel, dirt, and ash kick up into the air as Vitus slides down the massive cliff holding tightly to his son shielding the boy from the flying debris. The bumps in the earth dig into his sensitive left side shifting the broken ribs with every rough hit. His only means to fight through the pain is to look to the sky at the beautiful sunset…the last sunset of his home. The two suns slowly sink below the horizon of the mountains painting the sky in majestic colors of purple, red, and orange. Mountain peaks cast long shadows into the dark valley below as the remnants of a burnt forest lay to rot away.

Vitus hits the bottom of the valley with a thud, rolling his body to deflect as much of the impact as possible. Ash covers the ground like a fresh snowfall. The once proud coniferous forest that dominated the valleys is little more than black and burnt ten foot high stumps. Small fires continue in random pockets of the scorched forest providing little light by which to see with. The man lay there on the ground with his son, looking up into the darkening night sky. The moon that which his home orbits emits a dim, blue glow as if in mourning for the death and destruction of its satellite.

Vitus' energy is nearly expelled. He has been battered, beaten, bruised, pierced, cut, and burned. If Quintus, were not with him, he doubts he would have made it this far. _But how much farther can we go?_

Vitus reflects on the promise he made to his wife three years ago as she lay in her deathbed to an irreversible disease. Tears trickle from his eyes as hopelessness sets in one last time. _I'm sorry…I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise... I'm sorry for all the pain that I've caused…I'm sorry that I couldn't save you…from death. I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill my obligations as a father…to raise our son…to watch him grow into the great man he is destined to be._

Vitus looks to his son. Quintus, gripping his father's bloodied shirt, stares back at his father with the same look his mother gave the man before she passed: a look of unwavering courage. Vitus smiles at his boy before returning his gaze to the stars, "I know you want me to fight on – _Cough! Cough! - _to remain steadfast…if you give me one last chance…I can – I will…"

In the heavens above, a star twinkles in response followed shortly by the scream of a Sith starfighter flying low above. It flies alone searching for the father and son. The shrieking banshee of a craft flies through the valley in an instant before circling back. Vitus watches on as the Sith craft bee lines right for them. He knows that the guns are about to erupt upon them in a volley of green death forever ending the line of Journeyman Protectors. He hugs his son in one last good-bye saying to Quintus and his wife one last "I love you."

Vitus closes his eyes shut ready to accept the end…but the end never comes. The Sith starfighter's scream continues but is less shrill and more steady. Opening his eyes it is revealed that the craft is slowly landing some one hundred meters from them. Vitus looks to the heavens one last time as the star twinkles again.

Hope and strength return to the man as he cracks a smile. "One last fight…" Carefully sitting his son against a fallen log, Vitus motions the boy to remain hidden. The man then stands with all the strength he can muster. Blood leaks from the corners of his mouth and his freshly reopened wound. The pain at his side is at its worst, but it soon disappears.

Vitus focuses all his will for the fight and draws out his dark saber, the black blade emanating a white glow ready to slay one last enemy.


	13. Part 12

Darth Abadon's star fighter slowly descends into the dead valley below. Flipping several switches above him, he puts the ship into auto pilot allowing him to focus on his prey. The front facing exterior lights illuminate the pitch black below revealing the once thriving forest now burnt to a crisp, but Abadon does not care about some burnt forest, some destroyed moon, or an entire civilization he's erased. All he cares about are the man and child that thought they could escape him. All he thinks about are all the scheming Sith trying to remove him just as he eradicated the people of this pathetic moon. All he worries about is what his master, the Emperor, would do to him if he failed the mission he himself gave him.

"Lord Abadon –" A comm channel opens up in his cockpit. "Sir, have you –." Darth Abadon slams his fist into the console permanently closing off contact with those outside the valley. He will trust no one. He will trust only himself.

_Do not fail me…or I can provide you a fate worse than death…_The words of many of the Emperor's threats and warnings echo in the back of Abadon's mind. He had seen what the Emperor is capable of. The Lord of the Sith does not simply kill those he deems unworthy of life, but consumes their entire being destroying their connections to the Force and making it his own. With every soul he absorbs, the more powerful he becomes.

The star fighter sets down with a gentle thud kicking up a dust cloud of ash. Abadon leaves the ion engines to run knowing that his hunt will be brief. Behind his seat in the cockpit, the on-ramp opens up letting in a hot breeze of lifeless air on what would have been a cool, autumn night. The smell of ash and death brushes against his nose giving him a surge of energy as he exits and takes a step onto the powdery ground.

A smile breaks onto Abadon's normally stoic face as he sees the man he is after, not hiding, standing within earshot of him with that black light saber drawn ready for a fight. _You're going to make this easier than I thought._ Memories flash in Abadon's mind of the good times when he was sent out to assassinate Jedi. One particular mission was vastly similar to the situation now. Abadon had cornered the twi'lek protecting her padawan. They had ran and ran but they could not lose Abadon for a Jedi's connection to the Force is too strong to hide. Now, a man, some ex-Jedi perhaps, protecting his child tries to fend Abadon off. The Sith Master finds it amusing.

"Hahahaha-" Abadon laughs at the man. "Do you really think you can fight me?" The man does not move. "There is nowhere you can hide! You cannot protect yourself or that child from me! Allow me to-" Abadon cuts off as the man retracts the black blade and seemingly disappears into the blackness.

"Hahaha…ok, so you wish to prolong your pathetic life, Jedi," Abadon mocks. "Alright then…amuse me." Abadon begins his search for the man in the darkness outside of his star fighter's exterior lights. The sound of the ion engines, he now realizes, masks any sounds that any footsteps would have made, but no matter, he has the Force to guide him to his prey.

Abadon pauses to meditate for a moment reaching out with the Force. His whole being becomes one with the land as he feels the presence of everything around him. He can feel the heat of the small dwindling fires struggling to breathe and stay alive. He can feel the last inklings of life in the once proud trees now black with death. He can feel the melted rocks, the snowy ash, and the burning soil. He can feel the remains of creatures that once thrived in this forest, but what he cannot feel is the one he hunts.

"_Imagine an enemy…where all your power…all your knowledge of the Force…means nothing…is useless…an enemy who is invisible to your senses…an enemy unaffected by the physical manipulations of the Force…"_

The words of his Emperor echo in his mind. Doubt and disbelief begin to creep their way in, slowly overtaking Abadon's pride and confidence.

_Nothing can be 'invisible' to the Force,_ Abadon thinks to himself as his eyes dart left and right in search of the man. _The Force flows through all things. It has to be some trick._ Abadon's own mind begins playing tricks on him as he imagines black shapes in the darkness circling around him waiting to pounce…or are they real? Abadon igniting his own light saber swings the red blade in a swift arc about him as if he were catching someone sneaking up behind him, but alas no one is there.

"Where are you?" Abadon's nostrils flare. His brow furrows. The anger within begins to surge forth as thoughts of deception by his own Emperor begin to creep in. _He knew this was to happen…The bastard set me up so his pet can take my place._

"Where are you?" Abadon's hands begin to shake causing his saber to hum loudly. _I'm going to kill you…I'm going to kill you…I'm going to kill you._

"WHERE ARE YOU!"

* * *

"WHERE ARE YOU!" The Sith calls out into the blackness.

Some 20 meters away, Vitus watches the Sith slowly sink into madness._ I'm not going to let you find me, _Vitus thinks to himself clutching his dark saber tightly in his hand. Had he sustained no injuries, he knew the Sith would be dead when he so choose...but he is injured, and badly at that. The simple act of stalking his prey was laborious requiring all his discipline to refrain from limping and coughing. Fortunately, the Sith left the ion engines of his star fighter running concealing what little sound he otherwise did make.

"Fight me like a man!" cries out the Sith swinging his light saber every which way. "You're people are dead! Soon your child will be dead too! This is your only chance for revenge! HAHAHAH!" The Sith's maniacal laughter hints at fear as he begins using his abilities to throw the Force at everything. Massive concussive blasts of his power tear up the dead trees from their singed roots creating a tsunami of dirt and bark.

Vitus waits like a hawk waiting for his prey to tire before swooping in for the kill, but the Sith was right. This is the only chance for him to get revenge. Vitus would give him that. Ten thousand souls enjoyed life on this moon. Ten thousand souls are now dead with this moon. _Ten thousand minus two. _Vitus and his son were escaping this moon, this dream become nightmare, and their ticket off was the Sith craft prepped and ready to go.

* * *

Abadon did not want to venture too far into the blackness. He felt safe in the star fighter's lights. His heart, which had been beating a million miles an hour, thumps a tired beat. He had exhausted himself swinging his light saber and Force pushing anything and everything that looked suspicious at the edge of the darkness. His breathing is heavy and getting heavier as the thought of his impending doom begin to crush him.

"I am a Lord of the Sith," Abadon growls to himself. "I am the Dark Side of the Force. I am fear…I am anger…I am hate…I am suffering. No one –" Abadon freezes as the sudden soft musical hum of a light saber whistles nearby in the blackness.

The hum, distinct from any light saber he had heard before, sings all around him in the darkness. For a moment it was behind him, it was in front of him, it was next to him…the soft melody of death creeping upon him from all angles as his eyes strain to find the source. Abadon clutches his own light saber ready to defend himself. He searches and searches as the hum endlessly circles about him until…

Standing mere meters away, the man just appears like some specter in the night. The black light saber continuously singing from his left hand. Abadon can hear his own nervous breath upon seeing the ghost. His hands begin to shake…_No! I am fear!_

Abadon raises his red blade and with his free hand reaches out to the Force. In his mind's eye, he can see the Force raising the man into the air strangling the life out of him. He can see himself ending this nightmare and returning to his Master with the heads of his enemies.

The man limps forward, calmly approaching Abadon. His blade remains lowered but ever ready.

Abadon in disbelief reaches out again. He can feel the Force constrain like it did to the hundreds of victims he's destroyed , but again the man continues to move forward.

"A_n enemy unaffected by the physical manipulations of the Force…"_ Again, the Emperor's voice rings in his head. Impossible is the only word that comes to Abadon's mind to describe this. Impossible.

The man halts a few steps from Abadon, a look of deep hatred and anger consumes his bloodied and beaten face. Abadon simply stares back at the figure before him.

* * *

Vitus eyes the Sith with all the vengeance he can muster. This Sith represents everything his people fought against for thousands of years since the great Hyperspace War, and now his people are gone.

With all of his strength and lightning speed, Vitus raises his blade overhead and swings down with a force unparalleled. The Sith blocks the attack as a thunderous blast erupts from the contact of the two blades. Vitus swings again knocking the Sith's light saber aside. With a simple turn of the wrist, Vitus drives his dark saber through the Sith's heart.

Vitus stares into the stunned yellow eyes of the dying Sith. "I am afraid you have failed, Sith. My people will live on through my son…" Vitus turns the blade listening to the sweet sound of cauterization as the Sith's life ends at the moment.

Vitus turns the saber off letting the body of the Sith slump to the ground. It took all of his strength to save face and now his injuries get the better of him as he too collapses to the ground.

* * *

"Daddy?"

Vitus awakes to the sight of his son kneeling next to him with a worry in his eyes. The Sith star fighter's engines continue to run bringing a smile to Vitus. Regaining himself, the father and son stand up and enter into the star fighter.

Sitting the boy in his lap, Vitus takes control of the ship's consoles and lifts off. As the star fighter ascends, Vitus and Quintus gaze out the window watching the scene turn from the darkness of the valley, to the red horizon of the burning moon, and to the blackness of space where the Imperial Fleet awaits the return of their commander. Vitus guides the star fighter through the massive fleet of dreadnaughts, frigates, and corvettes, even coming close enough to see into the viewing ports of the command bridges. To Vitus' relief, none of the ships show any signs of being alert to the star fighter's true passengers.

The star fighter passes by the last of the corvettes patrolling the edges of the fleet. The deep calm of space seems rather foreign after enduring a hell that no man should experience. If Vitus were to die, he would want it to be quiet...but he cannot die yet. Punching in the hyperspace coordinates to Coruscant he had memorized from the dozens of missions he performed in his younger days, the view in the window transforms from the star-covered blackness to a brilliant vortex of blue light.

_Cough! Cough_! Vitus' injuries have almost overtaken him as he sits pondering his next moves. Quintus, now quietly asleep in his father's arms, shifts slightly to get more comfortable. The boy's future is now the priority above his own life, Vitus thought. He knows his clock is winding down and soon he would join his wife and his people.

Reaching into a side storage compartment, Vitus removes a holodisk, inserts it into the main computer, and erases all the information stored on the device. Vitus pauses a moment thinking of what to say...of what to leave his son. Pressing record on the console, the holodisk downloads everything he says.

"Quintus,you are the last Journeyman Protector..."


	14. The End

"There is no emotion…there is passion- peace…there is peace. There is no ignorance…there is knowledge."

The Jedi Code was still a struggle for Jedi Knight Zel-Den. It had been almost a decade to the day that he had renounced the teachings of the Sith.

"There is no passion…there is serenity. There is no chaos…there is harmony. There is no death….there is the Force."

Meditating in his dark private chambers within the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Zel-Den constantly fought the temptations of the Dark Side. In his youth, he was taught and raised by a powerful rogue Sith on Nar Shadaa a place just as corrupt as the Sith. The disgusting, overgrown city that covers the entirety of the surface of Nal Hutta's largest moon was sprawling with life and infested with crime making it a prime location for a budding Sith to learn the ways of the Dark Side of the Force.

There he learned to fight and master all the light saber forms with deadly precision: Shii-Cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Shien, Niman, and Juyo. He learned what it meant to be a Sith fueling his power with his passions, his anger, hatred, and fear. His master taught him to kill without remorse, that the weak deserved nothing but to be subservient to the strong.

The memories flash in Zel-Den's mind of times where his master sent him out to wipeout entire gangs of thugs, Czerka trade outposts, and local government leaders just to draw in Jedi to investigate the moon and ensnare them. Then one fateful day, a man arrived wielding the weapon of a Jedi but was not a Jedi himself.

Zel-Den remembered that was the first time he truly understood what fear was. The Force guides Sith and Jedi alike in everything they do. It is as much a part of them as any part of their body. To have such a power stripped away is like turning the lights off and navigating across a pitch black room. It is possible to complete the task but it is very difficult.

When Zel-Den fought the hooded man, he recalls the inability to use the Force against him. He could not throw the Force in large blasts at him, he could not pull him, he could not choke him…he could not even use the Force to anticipate the man's movements. He remembers the black lightsaber painting dark streaks of black and white light as the hooded man swung with such precision that Zel-Den was taken aback at how pathetic he was against the man.

Yet, even though he was soundly beatly, Zel-Den was spared.

"I am only here for your Master," the man had said.

That man did kill Zel-Den's Master with just as much as ease as he did against Zel-Den. What manner of man can effectively nullify the Force? Zel-Den would eventually follow that man on several adventures and become best friends with him before being persuaded to join the Jedi. And the name of that man…

"Vitus Mereel…" Zel-Den says smiling to himself in the darkness. "What life are you living now, brother?"

Reaching out with force, Zel-Den raises the blinds of his apartment's windows letting in the light of the Coruscant day. His apartment, like every apartment in the Temple, is simply furnished to reflect the simple lifestyle of the Jedi. Red carpet and the brown marble of a contemporary statue contrast against the metal of the box-like room. A cot-sized bed with white sheets and red blanket pressed against the wall and the circular meditation cushion on which Zel-Den is sitting make up the only furniture in the tiny room.

Ending his morning meditation, Zel-Den prepares himself for the day ahead throwing on his grey-colored tunic and brown tabard. His garb, he thought, is far more ceremonial-looking compared to the grungy warrior robes he wore as a Sith. Even the two blue-bladed lightsabers he now possesses are a work of art. His last garment, the flowing oak brown robe, completed his wardrobe...He is a Jedi.

Checking himself in his personal mirror before leaving his chambers, the dark-skinned man, his face scarred, his head buzzed, and a short-goatee around his mouth, looks on with pride at himself that he could call himself a servant of the Light. He then exits his apartment ready for another day of training the Temple's younglings in the art of lightsaber combat. It was to be a good day…or so he thought.

* * *

Zel-Den served as an instructor under the Temple's Sword Master introducing the youngest of the younglings to the Jedi's weapon of choice. However, being that they were still a little young to wield an actual lightsaber, Zel-Den had the younglings practice proper footwork and the basic saber positions with wooden swords until they became second nature. Stationed in a large-cylindrical room lined by cushions and white-washed windows to let the natural light fill the room, Zel-Den observed the class of twenty younglings.

"Show me position one…" Zel-Den orders to the class as he walks amongst the tiny Jedi-to-be. The entire class almost as one obey their teacher's instruction holding their swords in a two-handed ready stance at chest height.

"Good. Position two…"

The younglings hold their swords higher turning them parallel to the ground. Zel-Den continued to ask his students to assume the different lightsaber positions and they obeyed. He had taught this group well, but one child stood out from the rest. A short Kiffar girl with white hair and a blue matriarchal tattoo crossing over her left eye and over the bridge of her nose always stood at the front of the class. She was the most naturally gifted of all his students – probably amongst all the students of all the Jedi Temples in the galaxy – able to not only pick up and understand the basic lightsaber forms but also adding in her own style. For a child of her age, it is unprecedented…even Zel-Den, who prides himself at his skills with the lightsaber, could not help but be impressed.

"Sylvi…" Zel-Den says to the young girl. "Come here…everyone keep going through all the positions," he says to the class who are curious as to why he is calling their peer to him. They continue their forms but keeping an ear and an eye on their teacher and classmate.

"Sylvi, do you know what it means to be a Jedi?" Zel-Den asks all the while keeping in mind that he too is still figuring that out.

The girl thinks for a moment. Her eyes hidden beneath the bangs of her white hair. "A Jedi helps people," she says looking up to her teacher. "And they protect them."

Zel-Den smiles. "Yes, you would be correct…And how does a Jedi protect them from –" He wants to say "the Sith" but that might be too much for this group. "And how does a Jedi protect the people?"

Sylvi responds without pause. "With a lightsaber."

Zel-Den pulls back his robe and removes from his belt a training saber used by some of the older classes. Sylvi's eyes fill up with joy and the class's with envy. The man holds the simple handle of the blade in his hands, it being a little less than three-quarters size of his saber to fit in the tiny hands of the younglings.

As he extends his hand out to give it to the girl, a Padawan burst in through the class door.

"Master Zel-Den!" the Padawan boy shouts, breathing heavy from the sprint to get here. "Y-y-you're – "

"Breathe Kit." Zel-Den says calmly. Kit is twice the age of the younglings and was amongst Zel-Den's first students that the Jedi allowed him to train. The young Zabrak, his vestigial horns protruding from the crown of his head, was short for a ten-year old, barely taller than younglings around him.

"Y-yes Master."

"And Kit…"

"Yes Master?"

"I'm not a Master."

"S-s-sorry…" Kit says taking in a deep breath. "You're needed at the eastern entrance!"

"What for?"

"Th-th-" The Padawan's face barely can hide the fear in his eyes. "The – the Sith have retaken Morriban! Some smuggler just got here with Padawan Satele and they – they said the Sith have- "

Zel-Den's calm demeanor turns to that of stern concern. "Are you sure? Why do they need _me_ then?" He knows it's because he was a former Sith.

Kit looks as if he might cry. "Th-there's one of their starfighters approaching the Temple!"

Zel-Den's former master's teachings flood his mind in an attempt to try and remember. Nowhere does he recall his Master ever mentioning other Sith. It has been nearly three-hundred years since Revan and Malak and that was between Jedi and former Jedi turned Sith. Were these invaders true Sith?

"Kit" Zel-Den says. "Watch the younglings."

Before the Padawan can reply, Zel-Den is already out the door racing for the Temple's entrance.

* * *

The massive entrance platform extends several hundred meters and flanked by colossal bronze statues of the Jedi of old atop concrete and steel walls. A landing platform sits at the end of the long entrance where Grand Master Zym and the Jedi await. Master Zym, among some of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, wait at the Temple entrance for the Sith starfighter to make its final approach. The Kel Dorian Jedi stands tall with his hands behind his back and his eyes down as if meditating. The hushed murmuring of voices around him made the uneasiness of the situation worse knowing that an entire Sith armada is out there now conquering systems. It was only thanks to the timely arrival of Padawan Satele Shan that this news ever broke out before it would be too late.

"Master Zym!" Zel-Den calls out practically force sprinting through the main hall of the Temple.

"Jedi Zel-Den…" Master Zym says, his voice slightly modulated through the mask worn over his mouth. He turns his head slightly to see the Jedi.

"Is it true?"

"Yes…" Zym returns his gaze to the sky.

"And what of Master Dorach? I hear his Padawan made it back –"

Zym, almost emotionless, says, "He is now one with the Force."

Zel-Den still cannot believe it.

"Now is not the time for grief, Zel-Den…do not let your emotions cloud-"

"My judgment- I know, Master."Zel-Den is in near awe of how robotic the Jedi Master sounds. Looking up into the sky with Master Zym, Zel-Den spots the Sith starfighter slowly approaching the Temple. "Why has no one fired on it?"

"Because it has shown no hostility…we must not be rash in our actions."

"Rash? The Sith have begun an invasion of the galaxy and –"

The Kel Dorian squares up to Zel-Den, staring into his eyes through those dark goggles. "And what would destroying a single ship accomplish? There is much information we can obtain from the craft and its occupant."

Zel-Den lowers his head in shame. He had let his emotions get the better of him. "I apologize, Master."

Zym places a hand on the man's shoulder. "The path of the Jedi is not easy, especially after the life you lived before joining us…I am pleased at the progress you've made," he says before he and Zel-Den turn to continue the wait.

* * *

The shrieky Sith starfighter quietly lands on the end of the platform. Jets of condensed puffs of air exit the black trident-shaped craft depressurizing the cabin inside. Nothing happens for a good long while as the docking ramp does not lower.. The air is tense as the Jedi wait to see this…emissary.

"I do not sense anyone on board…" Master Zym says.

"Maybe it's a malfunctioned ship?" Another Jedi suggests.

"Master Zym," a Temple dock worker says from behind. "My scanners are reading two life forms on board."

Master Zym and the other Jedi, puzzled, reach out with the Force again, but Zel-Den already knows. The man races for the starfighter, worried excitement and confusion fueling his emotions. He reaches the backside of the fighter and impatiently uses the Force to force open the loading ramp.

"Vitus!?"

No voice answers back from the dark interior. Zel-Den cautiously ascends the ramp of the starfighter and enters the cabin.

The cockpit is completely still. Small lights flicker from the computers lining the walls of the cabin. A shape sits in the pilot's seat unmoving.

"Vitus?" Zel-Den says softly. A small pair of eyes peek from behind the cover of the seat before darting back out of sight. Zel-Den takes one step at a time approaching the pilot's seat. He then comes face to face with his best friend, bloody and dying.

"Oh no – Someone find a doctor!" Zel-Den screams at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Quintus watches on as his father is placed on a gurney and speedily carted away leaving him alone in the dark interior of the starfighter that was their salvation. Tears roll down the boy's cheeks for this is the first time he has been without his father. Rolling into a ball in the pilot's seat, it still warm and moist from his father's blood, Quintus tries to be brave.

"Daddy?" The boy whimpers quietly.

"Hello?" A voice calls from the outside.

Quintus holds his breath, his instincts built up from the last several days taking over. He does not move. He does not make a sound.

"Is someone in here?" The voice says this time from within the cabin.

Quintus looks up to see a man standing looking down at him, his features hidden in shadow. The man offers a hand, "Don't be frightened. I am a friend of your father, Vitus."

The boy holds fast remaining glued to his seat.

The shadowy figure retracts his hand before offering it again. "Hey, would you like me to take you to your father?" The man asks perking up the boy's interest.

Quintus nods and rises from the pilot's seat. He does not take the man's offered hand, instead following some few feet behind observing everything around him. Stepping into the bright light of day, the world comes into focus.

Wherever he is at it is big. All around him, buildings as tall as mountains rise into the sky, ships and speeders by the thousands whizz between the skyscrapers, and the constant noise of the hustle and bustle is near deafening to the boy's sensitive ears. At the end of the long platform Quintus and the strange man are walking lay a monstrosity of a building with five huge towering parapets rising higher than the surrounding buildings. The extreme size and scope of this new world keep Quintus in awe as the man leads him through the building's cavernous main hall large enough to fit an entire starship, between colossal marble columns dotted in even rows throughout, over causeways overlooking the entirety of the complex, and eventually to a meditation chamber quiet and dark.

The man stops next to a chair and gestures for Quintus to sit in it. Quintus instead retreats into a shadowy corner keeping the man in sight. The man's skin is as dark as his robes, with gray tips in his black hair and beard. Scars similar to that of his father's line the man's face. His expression is calm, almost prayerful, as if restraining himself from falling back to baser instincts. His posture is that like a lion's, tall and proud yet animalistic.

"Listen kid," the man says, "You're going to have to stay here until the doctors help your father….are you going to be alright here all by yourself?"

Quintus doe not reply. He simply stares back keeping the Jedi insight.

The man heads toward the door to leave. "Silent treatment, huh? Hehe – like father like son." The door shuts behind the man with a hiss and the faint sounds of clicking as the door locks engage.

Quintus is alone again in the dark stillness; his own breathing is the only audible noise. Remaining in his corner, the boy slides down the wall to sit and let the tears slowly form… Alone again in the darkness.

* * *

Zel-Den enters the Halls of Healing where Vitus is being taken care of by the Temple's Jedi healers. The healers of Coruscant's Jedi Temple are among the best in the galaxy using their advanced knowledge of the Force to heal the bodies and minds of the helpless. However, the strange man who arrived barely alive in a Sith starfighter is proving difficult.

Chief Healer Solya, a green-skinned Twi'lek whose prowess as a healer saw her rise to her position at the prime of her life, personally oversees the procedure on the bloody and broken man laying on the operating table before her. Top-of-the-line medical droids monitor Vitus' vitals repairing the damaged bones and tissue throughout his body. Upon hearing Zel-Den enter, a distraught Solya turns to face him. "I cannot help him."

Zel-Den moves to stand near her and better look at Vitus. His friend is no longer the bloody mess he had seen on the starfighter having been cleaned and his clothes replaced with a hospital gown. The blood that had covered Vitus atleast gave him so color for now his pale skin is the color of gray snow. "I kind of figured _you_ couldn't. _We_ can't…he is-uh – special…but that's what the medical droids and lots of kolto are for, right?."

"If you're referring to his lack of connection to the Force and my inability to use the Force to heal him, I've figured that much out," Solya says. "And medicine can only heal the body. Whatever this man had gone through to get here has drained him so physically, mentally, and spiritually that I fear –"

Zel-Den clenches his fists. "Don't say it."

Solya with a pained look her in her eyes continues. "…I fear that he is beyond the brink….I'm sorry. I do not know how much longer he has to live but -"

"Please stop talking. Just…just give me a moment."

Solya places a comforting hand on Zel-Den's shoulder before leaving the room.

Zel-Den can feel his old self rising from some deep precipice buried deep within him. His breathing is heavy; his heart beats faster as the blood rushes to his head. He can feel the urge to let his baser emotions take over but…but this man is the reason he is alive. Vitus is the reason he has a second chance at redemption and he was going to continue to make good on that promise.

"Zel…" A weak voice says…Vitus' voice.

Zel-Den smiles, a tear forming at the corner of his eye. "Hey brother…you're not looking so good."

Vitus attempts a weak smile. "Still better...than you – _cough! Cough!"_

"What happened?"

"Sith…" Vitus closes his tired eyes. "Empire."

"Hey-hey…stay awake-stay awake."

"Datapad…"

"Datapad? Brother, you need a datapad?"

"…starfighter…"

"Starfighter? You need a datapad from on the starfighter?"

Vitus shakes his head and slowly raises his shaky hand to point at Zel-Den.

Zel-Den confused says, "I need it?"

Vitus nods. His breathing is becoming audibly slower.

"What would I need a datapad for?"

"…Quintus…" Vitus says, a pause for breath between every word. "You need…to…raise my…son…"

"Wait…Vitus, I am not going to raise your son...that-that's for you to do."

Zel-Den sees the same deadpan serious look in Vitus' eyes the day he spared him.

"Vitus-c'mon brother. There is no way in hell I'm – I was a Sith dammit!" Zel-Den begins pacing back and forth in the room almost shouting. "Is that who you really want to leave the care of your son, your child? To a man that – that did unspeakable evil in the name of the Dark Side-"

"And…denounced it…now a…Jedi…"

Zel-Den pauses in his steps rubbing his temple with his thumb and forefinger. "And that's good enough?"

Vitus smiles before relaxing his eyes again. "…Quintus…come here…"

Zel-Den shocked, turns to see the small boy silently emerge from behind a powered down medical droid. _Has he been here the whole time? Did the boy follow him without anyone noticing?_ Zel-Den notices the boy's eyes, devoid of tears, are red from his quiet weeping in the shadows as he approaches his father's bedside. Pity fills Zel-Den's heart.

"…Quintus…" Vitus says as he looks to his son one last time. "…everything…will be…alright…."

Quintus lowers his head concealing the pain he is feeling. Vitus, reaching out with hand, raises his son's head to look him square in the eye.

"…show…no…fear…_Cough! Cough!..._Quintus…" Vitus says physically struggling with every word. "…this man…is…now…your…father…"

Zel-Den freezes in shock at his friend's words. "Vitus?"

Quintus utters no response. His expression is blank absorbing every last word of his father.

"…Zel…" Vitus continues. "…datapad…history…Journey-…Protect-…teach…son…"

Zel-Den can only repeat himself. "Vitus?" Vitus simply smiles to him.

Vitus lies on the table in silence as if reflecting the entirety of his life. His breathing slows to the point where it is as if his body no longer requires breath. The rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment monitoring his vitals, the mechanical boops and electronic buzzes of the medical droids, and the low ambience of the Jedi Temple are the only sounds heard in the quiet room.

"…Quintus…I…will…always…be…with…you…...I...prom-...-ise..." Vitus says closing his eyes for the last time to join his wife and people leaving behind his son he risked everything for.

"Daddy?" the boy says. "Daddy?" Quintus does not move. He is unable to even cry for he has already spent all his tears. Leaning forward, Quintus lays his head on his father's chest one last time, but this time, no heartbeat can be felt.

Zel-Den places a hand on the boy's shoulder as the two of them grieve for the man who saved their lives.

* * *

**From the Author:**

**Thank you very much for reading my first Fanfic Star Wars: An Old Republic Tale - A Lingering Hope. I hope you enjoyed it for I enjoyed writing it and learning and improving my writing skills. **

**If you are curious about a sequel, go check it out. It is called Star Wars: An Old Republic Tale - Dusk to Dawn. I have a whole universe, or "galaxy", in my head with these characters as part of the Old Republic timeline and want to continue writing about them.**

**Thanks again.**


	15. Epilogue

_The Imperial Citadel on Dromund Kaas..._

The doors to the Dark Lord's throne room open with a menacing hiss allowing entrance for the Sith Admiral finely dressed in his black military uniform, rank and commendations proudly displayed on his chest. He swallows before calmly entering the dark throne room as if walking through the gates of hell itself. Behind him the doors slam shut, the clicking of the locks reminding the Officer that he can no longer turn back now. With every step he takes, his heart beats several times faster. The long walkway up to the Emperor's throne is dimly lit by fluorescent orange lights as pillars of lightning from the Citadel's generators give a haunting energy to the room. Sitting on his throne, the Emperor of the Sith Empire awaits, his figure hidden in shadow beneath the silhouette of his seat. Beside him, his apprentice Exal Kressh, her red skin contrasting against the blackness of her robes and the darkness of her hair, and her eyes, those yellow eyes, hungry like a predator craving its next meal.

The Officer halts several meters away from the Emperor and kneels before the Lord of the Sith. Kressh smirks before calling out to the now sweating Officer. "What news do you bring our Lord?"

The Officer takes a deep breath, the perspiration building on his forehead. "My-my Lord, we have reconquered the Sith homeworld of Morriban and have already begun the invasion of several of the surrounding systems. Lord Vindican is dead and his apprentice Darth Malgus now commands the Sith fleet carrying out the operations."

Kressh laughs in disbelief. "Hahaha-Malgus? It appears the animal finally stabbed his master in the back."

The Emperor is silent still awaiting the news he wishes to hear.

The Officer continues. "The Mandalorian armies have also begun their campaigns conquering several smaller systems in the Outer Rim and cutting off vital trade routes for the Republic. Several Republic freighters have been captured and-"

"So everything is going as planned," Kreshh says smiling.

"Y-yes, my Lord," the Officer says keeping his eyes staring straight at his feet.

A long pause follows before the Emperor's voice sounds from the blackened figure sitting at the throne like a ghost calling from the beyond. "And what of the information I want to hear?"

The Officer's lips tremble. Sweat drips from the tip of his nose splattering on his clean leather boots. "My-my Lord...the moon is destroyed. The surface has been turned to glass. No life can return to the rock...my-my Lord-" the Officer continues the sweat now stinging his eyes. "Lord Abadon is dead."

Exal Kressh laughs evilly to herself. There is a silence from the Emperor before he says, "As long as the moon's populace is no more..."

The Officer swallows.

"Is it?" the Emperor snarls.

The hands of the Officer are now shaking uncontrollably. "My Lord...Abadon was killed by-by a lightsaber. His ship...his ship was...stolen." The Officer could feel the air of the chamber get heavy.

"And what of the other two...Journeyman...Protectors," the Emperor hisses.

"We-we dispatched several agents to intercept them and," the Officer's fear restrain his voice from speaking.

"And?" Kressh says haughtily.

The Officer swallows and finds what courage he can. "...th-the-the agents were...k-killed."

The atmosphere around the Officer begins to feel as if the gravity has increased ten fold. He can hear the metal and durasteel of the surrounding structures creaking under the immense pressure.

"...we are continuing to track them and-and have sent more agents." The Officer scrounges for whatever he can say in hopes of making it out alive, but there is no hope in this place.

The pressure in the room builds and builds and builds to the breaking point. The Officer prepares for the worst and then...the room relaxes and the air returns to normal. The Officer chances a look up to see the Emperor, but his figure his still shrouded in darkness. Kressh slowly approaches the Officer, an evil smirk forming at the corners of her mouth. The Officer knows that his life is over now as he stares into those lifeless yellow eyes of the Emperor's Apprentice. He lowers his head and shuts his eyes waiting for his life to end...but it does not.

Instead, a softer Kressh offers her hand. "Stand up. You need not fear me. We have a message that we need you to send to the rest of the Empire."

The Officer shakily stands up. His face is now pouring sweat and the front of his uniform is soaked. Kressh lovingly places her arm around his waist to guide him out of the throne room. Hope begins to return to him as the door comes closer and closer. It opens, the light of the world outside shining on him like a beacon.

The Officer, his confidence returning, asks, "What is the message, my Lord?"

Kressh whispers in his ears. "You are the message." Kressh than presses the end of her lightsaber into the small of the officer's back and ignites the red blade.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**I was not planning on writing an epilogue for An Old Republic Tale, but it came to be just spur of the moment. If I were to analogize this with a movie, it acts as a kind of "post-credits" scene for the next Old Republic Tale I am currently writing. Go check out Star Wars: An Old Republic Tale - Dusk to Dawn.**


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